Page 4 of His Pickle Her Jam

Being rich was fine, but it wasn’t everything. Sure, I dabbled in small ventures, like Sonny’s label, Whiskey Neat, and yeah, I bartended for him.

But that was just a distraction.

Lately, I’d found a new passion. Something I was dying to get into.

Pickles.

Yup. You heard me right.

I was positively passionate about pickles. I mean, they were the perfect food. You could pickle any damn thing you wanted. From cucumbers to garlic to unripe tomatoes to beets to eggs.

The possibilities were endless, and that was why I was going to call my business Pickled Possibilities.

So far, I’d come up with over a dozen recipes and I’d been rolling them out slowly to my friends and family.

Sonny actually started ordering some for his bar. They served small plates now and my spicy pickled beets and eggs, garlic thyme cukes, and corn relish were big hits with the summer crowds.

I had a connection with a New Jersey non-GMO organic produce company called Kent Global Farms, owned and operated by a former college buddy, Jeremy Kent. His home base was in Sussex County, about an hour’s drive from where I lived in Montclair.

I had a big old Victorian that I renovated on the ritzier part of town. I wasn’t embarrassed by my wealth, and I craved privacy, something that was damn near unheard of in the busier suburbs of the Garden State.

My neighbors were mostly older rich people, with a few professional athletes mixed in. But we got along fine. With the space between properties, it was impossible not to.

I needed more than just my home kitchen to work in. I needed a store and there was one spot that was perfect, just a few doors down from the Whiskey Bar.

“Where you off to?” Sonny asked as I took off my apron and rinsed my hands at the sink behind the bar.

“Meeting the realtor down the block,” I replied, a grin splitting across my face.

I had this in the bag!

Or I thought I did.

Until an unmistakable look of guilt spread across Sonny’s face that made me stumble on my first step.

“What is it?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Nothing, man,” he replied, shrugging, but not looking me in the eye.

“Sonny, I know you’re full of shit. What happened?”

“Well, you know how you told me not to tell anyone old man Jones was selling?”

“Yeah,” I said, not liking where this was going.

“I, uh, mentioned it to Delani while she was on the phone with Jan and, well, you know how she’s been looking for a spot for Jan’s Jellies & Jams? Del kind of convinced her to go look at it today?—”

“What? That woman is trying to get my store!” I growled, rushing out from behind the bar.

“Dude, I’m sorry!”

I ignored Sonny’s half-assed apology. The fucker could owe me later.

I didn’t know much about Jan’s finances, but I knew I could buy the building outright and I was going to make a cash offer right now if it meant I got the space away from that curvy little menace’s hands.

Not caring that I looked like a freaking lunatic, I tore off down the street to find my appointment with the realtor had been literally hijacked!

“Thank you so much for showing me the place, Mrs. Montgomery, I really appreciate your time, and you have my offer, but here are some samples of what I’d be selling should Mr. Jones accept it,” Jan said, her bright smile blinding.

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